


The BOO-kay Residence (is a haunted house!)

by BardicRaven



Category: Keeping Up Appearances
Genre: Canonical Domestic Abuse, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Paranormal, things that go bump in the night - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: What it says on the tin, or in this case, in the title.





	The BOO-kay Residence (is a haunted house!)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debirlfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/gifts).



Richard thought he was going mad. Not a new feeling sadly, especially being married to Hyacinth for more years than he cared to recall, but one that was more vivid than usual.

Little things, really. Nothing huge, in and of themselves, but still, in aggregate out of the ordinary enough that he began to wonder if he’d finally flipped.

A cold spot to the left side of the sitting room that sometimes moved to the exact center of the hallway, far enough from the door that it couldn’t be blamed, no matter how hard he (or Hyacinth) tried.

Knocks in the middle of the night, that could be explained by errant plumbing, except for the fact that they didn’t have any. Hyacinth wouldn’t hear of it. Richard put it down to the fact that even the pipes were intimidated by his wife, tho’ he couldn’t be certain of that. But the fact remained that he couldn’t recall ever hearing a time when a pipe made a weird knock or unauthorized gurgle, and therefore, the fact further remained that the strange knocks in the middle of the night couldn’t be attributed to that.

But the point of no return, the proverbial final straw, came when Hyacinth called him into the bedroom one morning near the end of October. He’d already had to hear the usual complaints about the rudeness of the neighbor children coming to beg candy and the pranks they inevitably seemed to pull on the Bucket (pronounced BOO-kay, you know!) residence.

So he entered the bedroom a little tentatively, knowing only that, whatever she wanted, it wouldn’t be that most friendly of husband-wife encounters. Goodness knew, there was little enough of that, and not particularly enjoyable at the best of times.

Which, clearly, this was not going to be, judging by the frown on his wife’s face. Richard decided to just get it over with and be done. “Yes, dear?” he asked in what he hoped was a sufficiently ingratiating tone. He’d heard once, from some source he couldn’t recall at the moment, about people who voluntarily lived in service to a master or mistress, sometimes even wearing collars to denote their status. He felt like that, except he couldn’t recall when he’d actually agreed to the arrangement.

The thought of Hyacinth’s reaction to his showing up wearing a collar one day stretched his lips in an involuntary smile.

“What are you grinning about, Richard? Come over here, this is important. Richard? Are you listening?”

_Not more than I can help,_ he thought as his mouth said, “Nothing, dear. You called me?”

She stared at him a moment, before shaking her head. “Yes, Richard, I did. I thought I had asked you to move this nightstand out of this room.”

“I did, dear.” And a bloody pain it was too. His right hip was still sore from the effort.

“Then what is it doing back here?” she asked, pointing down at the offending piece of furniture.

Richard did a double-take. While he wouldn’t exactly put it past his wife to have moved it back just to have an excuse to complain about it, it did seem like a bit much effort for her.

“Well, Richard? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know, Hyacinth.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know, Richard? It should seem very obvious to me. You obviously forgot to move it. And I don’t appreciate your lying about it. Whatever will the neighbors say, if you’re lying all the time, Richard?”

_They’ll say you’ve finally driven me out of my mind,_ he thought. He put his hand up to his face, allowing himself the luxury of a brief thought involving a barrister and a divorce – or maybe just a shovel. Once to the head, and then another to bury the corpse in the back garden. Goodness knew there wasn’t a court in the land that would convict him. Not after the whole sordid story of his life came out. There not only wouldn’t be a conviction, there might quite possibly be cheering.

“They won’t say anything, Hyacinth, because I haven’t lied to you. You asked me to move the nightstand and I moved it.”

“Then why is it back here, Richard?”

“That I can’t tell you, Hyacinth. Would you like me to move it again?” It seemed the best course to deal with the impossible situation – both the nightstand’s improbable location and his wife. Dealing with the one should lead to the other one being placated, at least for a moment or two, which was really all he could ever ask for.

“Yes, Richard. Yes, I would. And this time, please make sure that you move it in such a way that it won’t show back up here again.”

“Yes, Hyacinth.” He forebore to ask how he could do that when he didn't know how it had shown back up here in the first place and bent his back to the task at hand instead.

* * *

Richard grunted and strained the nightstand out into the guest bedroom, where he’d put it the first time, glaring at it when he was done, as if it could understand just how much trouble it had gotten him into.

It must not have understood well enough, however, because the next day, it was back. Hyacinth was even more withering and Richard even more exasperated, tho’ just as silent to his wife’s face. He put it back in the back bedroom for the third time, fond thoughts of an axe entering his mind, tho’ whether he was thinking of taking the axe to Hyacinth or to the nightstand, he couldn’t say.

He was a bit alarmed by the voice inside his head that said, _Why choose?_ , but managed to fight it down and go on with his day.

Towards the end of the second week of this, Richard had moved the nightstand thirteen times and things were even more tense in the Bucket (pronounced BOO-kay!) residence than usual. The lady of the house was even more sarcastic than usual, and the man of the house convinced there was a conspiracy involved to drive him stark raving mad.

That day, Hyacinth stood there in the bedroom, vibrating with righteous anger, or whatever it was. Richard thought it was tiresome, and finally, for the first time in his life, nearly ready to say so.

“Richard!,” she said. “I will not have this! Either that nightstand goes, or I do!”

And finally, something snapped in Richard’s mind. It wasn’t an axe that he picked up, but he felt it was nearly as good, and a lot less likely to have a constable showing up at his front door, which was a distinct bonus.

Richard stomped to the closet, yanked open the door, pulled out a suitcase, and threw it on the bed, watching as it bounced on the duvet, promising him freedom at last.

“I’ll take the nightstand,” he snapped. “It’s quiet, it doesn’t yell at me, and it’s a whole lot easier to live with than you are.”

“RICHARD!” Hyacinth cried, bursting into tears.

But for once, Richard remained unmoved, merely pulling open drawers and pulling down things from hangers until the suitcase was full and his wife’s eyes were empty.

“I’ll take you to Violet’s.,” he said firmly, and it was a measure of her own surprise that Hyacinth said nothing, only meekly getting into the car as he held the door open for her.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the house, if you had had eyes to see and ears to hear, you would have noted an interesting conversation happening in the bedroom where so recently the household drama had played out.

“So does this mean that they’re finally going to leave the nightstand there?” a whispy voice spoke into the stillness, a faint sense of female attached to it.

“I think so, dearest.” Fondness and certainty, tho’ no less whispy, with a hint of male.

“Good.” There was firm satisfaction in the voice, stronger now. “I always liked it there when we were alive. I don’t know why they thought it needed to be moved in the first place.”

“I agree, dearest,” a now distinctly male voice said, also clearer and stronger, before adding, “Shall we go out and see what is in the garden? It’s been lovely of late – we should enjoy it while they’re gone.”

“Yes, love,” the female voice answered, “do let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like! Did you notice that I tucked in the shovel, albeit metaphorically, rather than literally? ;-D 
> 
> Thank'ee's for such an unexpectedly fun prompt for a Wednesday evening! It felt good to strike back on Richard's behalf.
> 
> The incident with the nightstand is based on something that happened to friends of mine, tho' they were smart enough to give in a lot earlier and thereby save their marriage, as well as making their ghost happy.


End file.
